Monthly Archives: June 2009

Catching up on some miscellany

I’ve been remiss in keeping my blog up to date with my acerbic ramblings and harsh judgment. So let us remedy this with a short blast of loathsome pop culture items.

1. Michael Jackson. Everyone acted surprised he died. Which is weird. Because the man has spent the past two decades having every unnecessary medical procedure in the book performed on his body so that he could look like an aging anorexic woman wearing a deflated sex-doll as a skin suit. Of course his body said “FUCK THIS SHIT” and checked out. Also, did everybody forgive him for being a mo-mo all of the sudden? Because whenever I bring up the fact that he fed little boys “jesus juice” and touched them in front of the elephant man’s skeleton, I get this look like it’s too soon. Yes. It was too soon. To touch those little boys. On their genitals. I did listen to his music all fucking day though.

2. Transformers 2 Revenge of The Fallen is not actually as nonlinear or nonsensical as it’s made out to be, but it is basically seven major action sequences with various trailing plot points reaching desperately for each other to gap the void between them. It feels like it’s about four hours long. It’s smeared down with enough campy cheese and vaguely oily feeling racial stereotypes to make your brain feel like County Fair nachos when it finally rolls out of the theater. Also Megan Fox’s boobs got more screen time than any robot, Shia, or any character except for the throwaway “college roommate” who for some reason fills the screen for 45 fucking minutes. This should tell you how much fat could have been ripped out, but for some reason was not. I’d like to see a “real director’s cut” where somebody takes a talented director and has them re-cut it into an actual one hour and fifty minute summer action flick.

3. This summer is kinda bullshit, weather wise. But yesterday made me want to find a way to fuck the air.

4. GI Joe looks like it’s gonna be horrible. FYI.

5. I think there might be some dried semen on my face.

I guess that doesn’t really have much to do with pop culture. But it’s raw and real, people. Get in touch with it.

The Mortal Coil

I know, I know, you’re expecting another missive where I berate old women and use caustic language about homosexuals, but today, something a little bit different.

I’ve been thinking a lot about mortality lately. My mom’s mom died about a month ago, leaving me with no living grandmothers, and a living grandfather whose relationship with me is largely based on gift cards to Barnes and Noble made out to “Aarronn” (when in doubt, double it). We’re a small family. Just me and my sister. My mom and my dad. I have an Uncle I don’t speak with, two cousins I added on MySpace and then went back to ignoring. But something about Grandma Mickey dying… it stuck with me. I can’t shake it.

I know she had a good life, I know she had fun. I know that all the way until the end, she was cognizant and sharp. We had constant arguments about politics, which usually ended in her telling me that she was going to staple my mouth shut. And I wonder what kind of old man I’ll be. I wonder if I’ll have her cloudy eyes and sit there with my menthol cigarette slowly burning it’s way to my hand. I wonder if I’ll be like my Grandfather, confused and alone. My life having left me with no answers, only questions and chaos. Or if I’ll be Grandma Walker. Terse and joyless. Living out my life like it’s a punishment for the crime of being born.

I know their stories. I know the tales we tell about them, anyways. I know the gist. I know that they were once young and they were in love and they fought in wars and made bombs and had children and lusted. But I wonder, if they had the chance to capture them, which moments they would take into the next life. I wonder if it’s a relief to be unburdened of memory. I wonder if Henry Walker ever looked at himself in a rear view mirror at 5am, sweaty and bleary eyed, surprised by where life has taken him. I wonder if Marguerite felt the shock of someone completely blowing away your preconceptions in one miraculous moment. I wonder if Mieko Kunitomo ever broke down into tears because it all became too much too soon.

I wonder, when I am old, what will I tell the young ones? Will I tell them the sanitized stories that I heard growing up? Or will my eyes twinkle, and my gut ripple, as I tell the one about the Hopi kachinas and the crystal meth, eyes unfocused, my unsteady words recreating that sunwashed stretch of Grand Avenue. The grandest days of my youth.

Hypothetical faggots, if you will

A Toast to Two Gay Guys Who Are Getting Married, (Lesbians : we can edit this to work for you too)

(gesture at grooms – how do you pluralize that is it just the s? Or is it like moose where it’s just… groom. A pair of groom. No, that sounds wrong) Would you look at these two faggots? I mean seriously. Wow. Get a room.

Contrary to what the you guys may believe… (pointing around at the family) This (make a circle indicating the groom…ses..) is a common wedding. But because we have angry, bitter people and Fox motherfucking news, this must be a politicized event. And that is a shame. It is a shame that in this day and age, a wedding between two people with such a normal, common, average relationship can be forced to be a big deal. You two met, you had a relationship, you had ups, and downs, and aside from the specific details, your story is exactly like millions and billions of people through history. You are born, you live, you love, you fall, you hurt, and you die. Just like every other marriage going on today, this SHOULD not be a matter of national attention. But it is. You are just like everyone else, everyone in Wichita Kansas and everyone in (insert home state). Everyone in this room, for that matter. And I hope, with the progress we are making as a nation, and as a species, that one day it will NOT be something which newspapers must be written about.

Some smart motherfucker once said (I assume at this point in the wedding I’ll be pretty drunk) ‘We are not so different, you and I’. We’re all made out of mud, as they say, we’re all sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, and it should only make sense that we can make that choice, to become husbands, and wives. To say to the world “Together we are better than apart” in ceremony. To share your love with the world. And I hope that we get there, soon. That in every state in the US a men and women can stand together regardless of gender and start making the world brighter with your bliss. That in every country of the world two people in love can touch each other on a street corner without fear or regret. That some day the term faggot can be reclaimed by those children, by all of us, really, for it’s original purpose, to define a small bundle of sticks, suitable for making a fire. And also to be yelled out of the car window on the freeway, at somebody who can’t find the mother fucking gas pedal. Seriously, people. I was behind this woman earlier and when she FINALLY let me pass her she just gave me this look of DISDAIN. I mean, part of it had to do with me screaming at her to eat my cunt but trust me everybody… she was plenty bitchy looking before that. Her dial starts at disdain and it just gets worse from there.

But this isn’t about that aging truckstop whore who couldn’t be bothered to turn off her right turn signal since 1987, this is about (Insert names of the groom..mes.?). May your relationship continue to be so typical. May your love only continue to grow and your lives become richer because of your commitment this day. Now if somebody could just validate my parking I can get back to hitting on the straighter looking chicks and the really girly looking guys (Indicate that one guy, you know the one, with the ‘call me’ sign). Cheers.

Potpourri

“There’s too much gas in the Gus Bus, take him down.”

I am not a stoic. If you read this blog or follow me on twitter or have heard me at a bar saying something like “So that’s when THE ABRASION started and I really wanted to tell him to pull back his teeth” you know I’m not the sort of guy who is going to keep his opinion to himself. Or… much of anything. There’s not much of anything I keep to myself. I try to make it funny, I try to keep it civil, but I try to keep a constant flow of communication, mostly so I don’t feel lonely.

Last week was less about that, and more about me sitting and thinking. I didn’t blog that much. I tried to keep the tweeting to a minimum. I IM’d a lot, but I do that by instinct. But I spent a lot of time sitting in the sun and feeling things, trying to put things in order so I can talk about them. A series of events just brutally shifted my emotional self, and I was unprepared for how it would make me feel.

I had sex. It was good. She was enthusiastic and beautiful. I had forgotten that every single part of sex is fun. I have some issues to work out still. But it was a rewarding experience. I am glad I did it. That being said, I forgot how much bullshit goes along with sex. There’s so much posturing and guessing and there’s so much drama. I know it’s healthy, I know it’s part of life. But some of the industrial strength angst I felt this week made me long for the stony faced man who just told people “I don’t date” whenever it came up. I am trying not to let this wind me back into old patterns, but it’s so easy. Not having sex is so easy, Internets. Trust me, you don’t even have to think about it after a while. You don’t even want to.

My grandma died. We didn’t find out for a few days because she didn’t die at home so nobody had a phone number for my folks. She was old, and she smoked, and she loved salt and shopping. She had a bad heart and she hated taking blood pressure meds so it was bound to happen eventually. She died the way she lived, in a casino with a menthol cigarette in her mouth and casual disdain for liberals and foreigners. I love her dearly and it’s very difficult to acknowledge that she’s gone. I found myself thinking “Man, Grandma Mickey died. I wonder what Grandma Mickey thinks about that, it’s been so long I should give her a call.” while I was washing dishes in the sink. I do this with my Grandpa Walker too, sometimes. The entirety of last week was overshadowed by the hugeness of her death. She is legendary in my memory, larger than life. And while I have the mementos of her physical life, the memories of our time together: The scorpion dance, the arguments, the birthday song, us eating an entire roll of mint lifesavers while we drive around town, that feeling in the pit of my stomach where I realize I want to strike an elderly woman – This is my inheritance. (also the Tanuki)

I got let down. It happens. But I had been looking forward to this for so long and to have it unravel so close to fruition was very frustrating. These last few weeks (months, years) have been one continuous reminder that the only one I can rely on is myself, and everything else is just cream, which is a bit depressing in general, and this just added to my angst over the week. They apologized and I accepted, but I’m still selfish, and upset that I don’t get to see my best friend shyly stuff dollar bills into a thong at Silverado while intoxicated to the point of medical distress.

I got to drive all over Portland. It sucked ass. Fuck you, freeways. Fuck your slow ass driving 30 on the on-ramp. Fuck your inability to merge effectively. Fuck the 26. Fuck people who can’t figure out how to turn on a red. Fuck everybody who speeds up to block me in a lane just to switch into the lane in front of me. Fuck everybody who turns right from the left lane. Fuck all of you who CANNOT FIGURE OUT WHAT A TWO WAY CENTER TURN LANE IS FOR. IT’S FOR TURNING. IT’S NOT GOD DAMNED ROCKET SURGERY.

I let a friend down. And a new friend at that. Need to pay more attention to that.

I didn’t get to ride my bike. Mostly this was me being lazy, there were opportunities that I passed up, but I feel like I let myself down by not enjoying the heat and sunshine after months of blaming my lack of riding on the cold and wet. Pathetic, and something that has to be fixed.

There are other things that are chewing through my ulcer but I think that’s enough for today.